A Progression of Kisses
by theAkuRokuFaNaTiC
Summary: After Barry kissed her, Iris turned to face him. "This will never happen again, will it? We'll both get married, of course - you to some pretty woman in tight pencil skirts and red lipstick, and me to some hot stud with big muscles and dimples. Who knows, I may not even like dimples." Barry's only response was, "Tight pencil skirts?" Slight AU, BarryXIris


**A.N.: Finally! This baby took forever to finish. I'm not really used to writing any one-shot over 3,000 words, so I fought with this one. This is a sort of AU where Barry and Iris were childhood friends, and he's not the Flash (he probably would be soon, though). I hope you guys like it, because this is my absolutely _favorite _pairing in the DC universe. Please enjoy, and reviews are always welcome! **

Two seven year olds raced through a large forest that opened up to a secluded creek. Only small children who took the patience every day during their fleeting summer to explore farther and farther into the wooded area would have been able to find this opening. Such children were Barry and Iris.

A shock of red hair poked around a large tree, and a freckled face followed. Iris smirked as she sneaked behind her counterpart, her partner-in-crime, and tapped the boy lightly on the shoulder. "You're it, Barry!" she giggled, smiling widely. Iris had recently lost one of her front teeth, and while normal children might have been self-conscious about this, the ginger-haired girl was positively excited. She'd smile her brightest toward anyone who would look.

Barry turned around, nose scrunched up in frustration. "Not fair, Iris! You hid behind a tree!"

"There are _no _rules to 'Tag', except the most important one. Don't get tagged." With that, Iris ran toward the creek, hopping across a few large stones, making it safely on the other side. Preparing himself, Barry also began to jump across. That didn't work. Not at all. The small blonde's foot found a particularly slippery patch of rock, and his entire body followed that forlorn foot down into the water. With a splash, Barry landed.

Iris turned around just in time to see the large tears welling in Barry's eyes. "Oh, Barry, are you okay?" the little girl asked, running towards her fallen friend. She knelt down, nearly laughing as the blonde tried to hide his obvious pain. "Barry, is it your knee?"

"And my elbow. And my hand. And my ankle hurts, too."

Soft smile still in place, Iris made a "popping" sound with her lips before leaning forward and kissing Barry's hand. The poor boy's eyes grew about three sizes before he bent his arm to expose his elbow. "This, too?" Iris huffed and placed a quick kiss to the blonde's elbow. And his hand. And his knee. Also his ankle. (He was only _slightly _needy). The redhead smirked as she stood up.

"All better?"

Barry nodded and smiled, rising to his feet, and tapped his best friend on the shoulder. Iris whirled around, a look of confusion etched onto her freckled face. "What do you want, silly?"

"Uh," the small boy started nervously, shifting from one foot to the other. "tag."

{PAGEBREAK}

"Why?"

"Iris, I'm trying to tell-"

"No. Explain to me the theory of college. I don't understand it. I mean, we just finished high school, so _why _would we have to move on to even higher education. I don't know, Barry, it just seems so _mundane_. Where's your life going to be in four years if you're wasting it like you did the last eighteen?"

The ginger teen sighed heavily as she took a long, thoughtful gulp of her soda pop. It was orange-flavored, Iris' favorite (and by default, Barry's). She seemed rather distraught after high school; and, just three weeks before the first semester of college started, she had snapped. Iris had dragged Barry onto the low roof of her home, smirking when the blonde nearly tripped on the gutter railing. "Well, Iris," Barry began, picking up his drink but not sipping from it, "we _are _trying to make careers for the rest of our lives. If we don't go to college, we'll be dead-beats living on the street, picking up money in soup cans whilst playing ukuleles in the middle of subway platforms. I don't know about you, but that's not my ideal life."

The girl's green eyes focused on Barry's blue ones, and they narrowed. "No, that's not what I want. I already applied to college, yeah, but it doesn't mean I want to go."

This was news to Barry. He grinned his lopsided grin, leaning in towards his best friend. "I thought you were just going to the local college. Are you really going away?"

Iris nodded. "Well, you are, so I figured I might as well, too. I haven't even picked out my major, yet, though. Barry, you have everything figured out, and I don't. That's why I don't understand college. Why do they expect everyone and their _mother _to go to that facility of absolute _torture_, but they get upset when you don't know how you want to spend the rest of your life. How should I know? I'm eighteen years old. Maybe I want to be a spy. Do they have a college for that?" With a huff, Iris idly twirled a strand of her long hair, red locks curling between her fingers.

"Um...where are you going? To college, I mean." This seemed like a better option than arguing with Iris. If there was one thing that Barry had learned from years of friendship with Iris, it was that she never lost. Never. Not in tennis, not in conversations, not in possession of the remote control.

She mumbled a soft, "Columbia."

"Wait, _where_?" Barry practically shouted, nearly losing his balance in the process. Iris let out a barking sort of laugh, quickly putting a hand over her mouth.

"The one with a 'u.' In New York. Did you really think that I'd be going to South America for college? I already told you that I don't even have a major picked out. You're weird," she stated, bumping shoulders with the blonde.

Blushing, both in embarrassment and the contact from his friend, Barry too laughed. "You never know with you, Iris. You tend to do things differently. And don't deny it."

"Oh, stuff it, Mr. Valedictorian."

The blonde ducked his head down, rubbing the back of his neck. "I told you that you could have the medal if you really wanted. It's not like I'm going to need it."

"Why would I want it? It would be a lie. I was _quite _content with being on the upper end of mediocre. Don't try to change me, Barry. Besides, I don't want to waste my life with studying every single night when - when I know that I'm not that genius kind of smart. Not like you, anyway. So while I have nothing wrong with your way of life, it certainly isn't mine."

That was what Barry loved about Iris. She was honest, almost to a fault, but she never judged anyone. Sure, she made enemies with her bluntness, but Barry had never been offended. If anything, he was flattered that the ginger had been so comfortable stating her mind around him. And, despite her claims, Iris was nothing _close _to mediocre.

"Where are you going? To college, I mean," Iris asked, mocking Barry's question.

The blonde stuck out his tongue. "I got a scholarship, remember?"

"Oh, right. Sun City. That evil place is stealing you away from me. And to think, all you had to do to get a full-ride there was to grow a watermelon."

Laughing, Barry replied, "It was more than that. I worked really hard, you know. A 'congrats' wouldn't hurt too much, would it?" He looked over at Iris, eyes scanning the ginger hair and emerald eyes and pale skin and faded freckles caused by long trips to the beach summers ago. Of course, she still had quite a few freckles spattered on her shoulders, but Barry could only see those when she wore her usual summer attire, as she was now. She _was _awfully beautiful.

"It would kill me," Iris whispered back, staring straight at him. "Say, Barry, I-"

Without thinking, without wondering what sort of consequences would come from this, Barry leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss to the ginger's lips. She squeaked in surprise, before kissing him back, eyes sliding shut. The two parted, and Barry was positively floored when he saw bright pink lips curled into a light smile.

"Huh. Well, I'll be," was all she said before she stood up, offering a hand to her best friend. Barry took it, getting to his feet, trying to fight the blush that would inevitably rise to his cheeks. He lost. Iris sighed heavily. "This won't ever happen again, will it? I mean, we're both going to go away to college for a few years; and you're going to be a cop or forensic investigator, or something _spectacular_, and I'll be here, wasting away some degree that I didn't want to get. We'll both get married, of course - you to some pretty woman in tight pencil skirts and red lipstick, and me to some hot stud with big muscles and dimples. You'll probably have kids, I guess, and maybe you'll have twins that look just like you, and I might not have any babies at all. Maybe I'll be too busy, or maybe I just won't. I'm sure we'll keep in touch, at least until your kids are ten. But I think I might still send you Christmas cards."

Barry blinked a few times. "Tight pencil skirts?"

The ginger's face heated up, probably in frustration. "_That's _all you got from that? Tight pencil skirts? I don't know, it was just something I said. I don't even know if I _like _dimples. They're literally just crevices in your face that show up when you smile. Sometimes, I just say things without thinking about it."

"You're great at coming up with things on the fly, though," Barry said. "Maybe you should think about something like communications, or something. For college, I mean."

Iris mulled the thought over in her head for a few moments. "Fine, I'll spend the next four years learning how to talk to people. And if I don't find a job in my field, I will personally hunt you down. Deal?"

Perhaps Barry agreed because he wanted to see Iris excel at something that she was amazing at, but he secretly knew that that wasn't the reason. Barry only agreed because it meant that he might have a reason to see Iris again, if college didn't work out.

{PAGEBREAK}

It was four years later, and about thirty-seven dead-end dates past, that Iris West found herself alone in her tiny apartment in sunny Central City, eating about half her weight in frozen yogurt. She figured that, since it _was _yogurt, she could eat more of it. Stupid date, with his stupid coiffed hair, and his stupid half-smirk. And his stupid suit. It was a pretty stupid suit.

Iris frowned and picked up her remote control, turning on her television. Of course, she realized as she surfed through all twenty-two channels that the apartment's utilities offered, there was nothing on. She groaned heavily and began to skim through a month-old magazine, flipping through the fashions inside. Of course, with the budget that she was making, she'd never be able to afford _any _of the styles that were pictures. But that didn't mean that she didn't dress nicely. Thrift stores that were littered across the city offered plenty of nice clothing. And saving a few bucks didn't hurt, either.

It was official. Life officially sucked. A degree in journalism, for what? A job as a _photographer _for Picture News? Totally worth the four years and obnoxious roommates. But, given a few more months (and her winning smile, of course), Iris was a shoo-in for a promotion to reporter. That would be in her field, like she had (sort of) wanted, and it would probably pay well. But Picture News? Not her first choice of work. Iris now imagined herself as someone that worked for GBS News. Not like that was going to happen. Iris didn't quite have the luck for getting her first choice of work.

Absentmindedly, the redhead wondered how Barry was doing. She had seen him off when he left for Sun City, but after that, the two had only seen each other at Christmas and a few times during the summer. For the first two years. Following those, Barry had stayed during the summers for extra courses, and Iris had spent her Christmases with whatever boyfriend she was involved with at the time.

She still had his cell phone number (that was, of course, assuming that he hadn't changed it), and she had nothing better to do, but should she? Should she really? No, she shouldn't. But she wanted to. Iris made a noise of frustration as she silently debated with herself. She would be being a bother, probably; Barry might not even be home. Maybe he was homeless and couldn't even afford a cell phone anymore. No, that didn't sound like Barry; he would find _some _way to avoid poverty. Barry was too smart and too resourceful to be unemployed. But maybe the blonde was currently on some romantic date with a pretty co-worker. That was possible. Barry was a handsome guy - he had filled out since high school, and had even adopted his own style (if sweater vests and watches really counted as a "style").

No, Barry was too shy to ask a girl on a date. He'd need some sort of initiative, at least some sort of indication that whichever female he was interested in also reciprocated the feelings. And, even if a girl _did _give off the interested sort of vibes, Barry could be so dense when it came to his love life. He'd never pick up on a poor woman's feelings.

Iris walked towards her "dining room" table (she really didn't have that large of a dining room - could it even _count _as one?) and sat down. She had her cell phone carefully nestled in her pocket, yet she couldn't seem to find the motivation to fish it out. For once in her life, Iris felt very nervous. Sighing, she ran a hand through her ginger locks; he wouldn't mind if she called. Barry loved talking to Iris, right? They had been best friends since they were in diapers. A phone call couldn't hurt.

Why was this so difficult? "Okay," Iris began, walking toward her purse and picking out a note pad. She held a pen in her shaky fingers and wrote down a few words. "Barry, this is Iris. How are you? I am fine. I am a nerd. Please ignore me. Take luck; have a good day." The redhead knocked her head against the table a few times before sitting up straight. "It's Barry. I'm calling him. No, I'm not."

She was, she decided as she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. Scrolling through her contacts, Iris clicked on Barry's name, breath catching in her throat.

Dumb dial tone, ringing noises...anxiety began to take its toll on Iris. She considered hanging up and was about to when she heard a chipper yet tired-sounding, "Hello?"

Iris took a deep breath, preparing herself for the greeting. She should say something, anything. Maybe bark out a snarky remark, just to throw Barry off his usual course. Then again, he may not understand the sort of joke that she would give him. What if she tried to be smart but only stumbled over her words? Of course, if she didn't say anything at all, he wouldn't know who was on the phone; and he would be confused as to why someone would be calling him, especially at seven o'clock at night.

"Iris?"

The ginger woman stiffened. How did he know? How did he even _know _that she was the one calling? Had she been breathing too heavily, and he instinctively knew that it was his crazy best friend? Were they even still best friends? "How did you know that it was me?"

"Caller I.D.?" the blonde replied, with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

Iris might have smacked herself on the forehead had she not been trying to save face (er, voice) with Barry at the moment. She took a nearly-inaudible breath and put on her best smile, not that Barry would be able to see it. "So, um, how have you been?" Smooth, very smooth. It was a conversation-starter, but it also wasn't too invasive.

"Oh, I've been very good, thanks. I just got a job, actually. You?"

Oh, no. What was she supposed to say? How should she respond? Any answer other than "I also got a great, promising job" would sound too lax, but it also sounded too 'goody-goody.' After all, Barry was the go-getter between the two. If Iris was also blessed with a great job, the blonde might feel threatened that his supposed best friend was usurping in his territory. And that was unacceptable.

"Fine. Just sitting here, eating ice cream."

Again, Iris could've smacked herself. How did that sound any better? Either she was so desperate that she had resigned herself to merely eating frozen treats, or she was so bored that she had resigned herself to eating frozen treats. Either way Barry saw it, it would be disastrous.

"Cool! I just finished dinner myself, actually," Barry responded in a chipper voice, and the ginger woman found herself smiling despite her embarrassment. "It's really great to hear from you, Iris. It's been...what, last Christmas, since we've really talked. And cards don't count. How's Chris?"

"His name's Charlie, and we've since broken up, wise guy," Iris told her friend; she nearly laughed because she _knew _that Barry knew his name (Iris had told the blonde about a hundred times, and Barry had a wonderful memory), but he had never quite liked Iris' choice of boyfriend. Either Charlie was too capricious or too obnoxious, or he ogled Iris for far too long (which was odd, considering that Charlie had been her boyfriend - he was allowed to ogle). "You're smiling, aren't you?"

Iris heard the almost-imperceptible laugh on the other end. "Sorry, sorry. So Iris, how've you been?"

"You already asked that."

"I know."

Just like that, Iris remembered why Barry was her very best friend. More than anyone else in the entire world, he cared about her. He asked questions about a hundred times to make sure that her answer never changed. He always wanted to assure himself that she was fine and not hurt or sad or lonely or any of those depressing things.

She smirked as she placed her elbows on the table, relaxing into what she hoped was going to be a long call. "I'm really alright, Barry. I'm working, and I'm good. So, what are you doing for a job?"

"Oh, um, I am a new forensics investigator, actually. Who knew science could get me that far, right?" There it was. That nervous laugh that always followed some sort of amazing news. _Oh, I'm just some nerd who got a full scholarship to a good college, and I'm technically a scientist, but I just got a huge job as a police officer like in CSI. No big deal. How's that ice cream taste now, Iris?_

It tasted like dirt. "Cool. That is really cool. Well, I am going to be a reporter for GBS News," she lied; of course, if she didn't say it, if Iris didn't really believe that she could be a reporter, how would she ever get there? "You know, the one in Central City."

"Iris, that's amazing. You're going to be on TV. Wow...hey, did you say Central City? I'm in Central. What - what are the odds?"

Eyes widening, Iris had to keep herself from screaming. Of course. Of course he'd end up here. Of course they'd _both _end up here. But they were probably on two completely separate sides of town. Iris with her barely-together apartment, and Barry in some high-end living complex. He probably already had a sports car. "That is...awesome! We should meet up some time," she offered, hating herself for even suggesting that.

"We should. Hey, you know that coffee shop that's across the street from the gas station on Fifth? Are you remotely close to there?"

Not even close. But a taxi ride could fix that. "I live so close to there."

"That's great! I do, too. I bet it's right in the middle between us. Okay, when do you want to meet up? I don't work tonight unless I'm called in. Which, considering the size and crime rate of Central is a high possibility. I was thinking four. Four's a less crowded time, I think. I mean, I know it's in Rush Hour, or whatever, but I think that it would still be a good time. No one ever stops for coffee during Rush Hour."

Barry obviously was not a struggling adult that just got off of work.

"Sounds great," Iris said as she looked at the clock above her. It was about 2:30, which meant that if she hurried, she would be there early. "Okay, I gotta go because I have to go pick up some - some milk before I get there. I may be a bit late. That darn milk."

Barry laughed and bid Iris a sweet goodbye, and Iris glanced at the clock again. Immediately, she hopped to her feet and threw open her bedroom door, cursing when her closet seemed to contain _nothing _that she wanted. Should she go casual, or look like she _knows _this city? Pencil skirts were always good. But jeans were comfortable. And blouses had so many buttons. But they looked good.

Eventually, the ginger decided to look her best. She pulled on a slim-fitting pencil skirt that hardly allowed her to move, but she looked good enough to let that information go to the wayside. Afterward, she hastened to accomplish the arduous task of buttoning up her white blouse, silently praying that she wouldn't spill coffee on it. Deciding on flats instead of heels, because she really didn't want the taxi driver to assume the redhead was a stripper (not again, anyway), Iris slipped a watch onto her wrist, checking it again. If she applied her make-up in less than seven minutes and did her hair in only eleven, she would be ahead of the program.

Such was not the case. Iris applied her make-up in record timing, smirking as she finished her final swipe of lipstick. That only took six-and-a-half minutes. The hair was the fun part. She had forgotten to plug in the curling iron while she was applying foundation, and when she finally did plug it in, she took the extra time to brush her teeth. This caused her to put on another layer of lip-gloss. After the iron had been properly heated, she burnt her finger on it, allowing herself a few extra curses than she normally did. If she was going to be a reporter, she had to learn not to curse in awful situations. Applying cold water to the burn took some time, and then Iris had to dry her hands because electricity and water worked very horribly together.

Finally, after another fourteen grueling minutes of pain and curls, Iris stepped out the door, flipping her wrist up to her face to examine the time. Still good. Getting the taxi was an easy task, actually. The driver stopped, and the ginger stepped in. "Okay, um, Fifth Street - there's a little itty bitty coffee shop, and I need to get there as quickly as possible without exceeding the legal limits for speed."

Apparently, "without exceeding the legal limits for speed" really meant "drive as slow as humanly possible so that the ginger lady in the backstreet starts banging her head against the back of the seat. Oh, but when she leaned forward to hit her head again, Iris' seatbelt caught, and the belt refused to budge anymore, practically plastering her to the seat. She only found the strength to sigh. When the car finally did stop, and after the redhead extricated herself from the deadly seatbelt, Iris paid the man and stepped out, whimpering as she checked the time. Four minutes late. Awesome.

Upon opening the door, Iris scanned the little shop for a shock of blonde hair. Her heart fell into the pit of her stomach when she noticed no one that fit the bill. Understandable. Even _Barry _decided that he didn't want to meet up with Iris. Even _Barry Allen _decided that she wasn't worth the wait. Predictable, really.

She got in line, willing herself not to cry, because _she_ had been the one who was late; she deserved this. More than anything, she wanted to slap Barry for getting her hopes up, but she knew that that wouldn't help anyone. She ordered the fattiest, most calorie-filled latte to make herself feel better. Somehow, when the scalding and heart attack-inducing liquid creeped its way down her throat, that pain made her embarrassment seem a little less severe. Iris sat down, fingers curling around the large styro-foam cup.

The door to the coffee shop opened a few times, and each time Iris turned her head to make sure that Barry wasn't there. He never was. She checked her phone for a missed call or text. Nothing. Just as Iris was about to take the first sip of her artery-clogging drink, the door burst open, and in ran Barry Allen, very much out of breath.

"I am _so _sorry," he yelled out to no one in particular, but Iris found herself smiling. She stood up, catching the blonde's attention. "Iris," he panted, walking up to her, "you know I'm bad with being on time."

"You're an idiot," she announced, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "That's okay, though. So, you wanna pay for my coffee?"

He nodded, catching the barista's attention. "Excuse me, ma'am, we'll be sharing a check, and I'll have what she's having. Extra whipped cream, please." Iris grinned at the level of seriousness that was written on Barry's face. The barista nodded, handing Barry his drink. "And she already has her drink, so I'll just pay for mine and give her..."

"Five dollars and seventeen cents," the barista deadpanned.

"I will give her exactly five dollars and seventeen cents. Wow, five dollars. How 'bout that."

Iris took a long look at Barry after the two sat down. "You look really great, Barry," she said after a few moments. The blonde's face lit up into a bright red as he ducked his head downward.

"You - well, you always look amazing."

"Think so?" the ginger asked, thinking back to her battle with the curling iron, wondering if Barry would feel the same way if he had seen that scuffle. "I've really missed you, you know."

Barry stared at her for an even longer time than she had stared at him. "What?" she demanded, pulling her fingers across her bangs to make sure that those stayed in place. The blonde just kept studying her, coffee in hand but essentially forgotten. "What?" Iris vaguely wondered, hoping that her makeup hadn't smeared during the long ride to the coffee shop.

"You had a pencil skirt on," he observed, and Iris nodded, praying that it hadn't ridden up while she had been sitting.

"Your point?" she asked, darting her eyes to and fro, wondering if there was something about Barry's expression that would give her any indication as to what he was thinking. She saw nothing except deep thought, and that worried her to no end.

"Your lips are red, Iris."

Did the color not look good? She knew she was a redhead, but Iris honestly thought that it hadn't looked bad at all. If anything, she thought it was kind of sexy. Apparently it was noticeable enough to make a point of it, in Barry's opinion. She probably looked like a stripper again. That was definitely Iris' style - Hooker Chic.

"You said I'd marry a girl with pencil skirts and red lips. Iris, _you _have pencil skirts and red lips. I'm - I'm not proposing to you, but I want to take you on a date. A real one - I never have. I want to take you to a real restaurant with an appetizer's menu that doesn't have chicken fingers listed as the most popular item. I'll get you flowers and chocolate and even a teddy bear, if you want. I've never been good at asking people out, but I've always been awful at asking you out. Will you finally go out with me?"

Iris felt all the words that she wanted to say fly out of her mouth. She wanted to nod or smile or scream, but all that came out was a throaty sort of whisper that sounded more like she was possessed than ecstatic. Barry's green eyes filled with impatience and worry, and that was understandable, of course.

"...Yes," she finally managed.

Barry's face broke out into a huge grin as he took a long sip of his coffee. "Good, that sounds really nice. I warn you, though, I'm still probably going to be late, so you might want to wait a couple extra minutes."

"Sounds fair. I also have civil wars at my home with cosmetic appliances. So in case you ever come to my apartment, and I'm screaming, it's not that I'm talking to myself - I'm probably talking to my straightener."

"We are a couple of nutjobs, aren't we?"

"No one says 'nutjob', anymore, you idiot," Iris replied, leaning across the table to plant a quick kiss to Barry's lips. When he smiled, Iris' face lit up. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"You've been working out. You've got muscles."

"And?"

"And I was totally wrong," Iris began, stopping to take a long, very deserved swig of her drink, "I _love _dimples."


End file.
